


If It Wasn't for the Nights

by ChampagneSly



Series: Blue Tulip Verse [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, Pornstars, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Berwald, Jens, and Eirik are all adult film stars in Amsterdam when Tino comes serendipitously wandering back into Berwald's life. Berwald tries to figure out how to balance his day-job with the nightlife he wants to have with Tino, all while trying to avoid the impending disaster of Jens' hot crush on his cold co-star.</p><p>First Installment of "The Blue Tulip" Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Aaaaahhhhhh, this tastes so good after a _hard_ day's work," Jens groaned appreciatively while shamelessly pouring beer down his throat without stopping to breathe until the mug was empty and his eyes were happily glazed over.

Berwald resisted the urge to smack the irritating Dane over the head for having said the same cheesy, predictable line he always did when they had wrapped up a day of filming. It might, maybe, sort of have been a little funny the first time, when they were both sitting dazed and somewhat elated after the loss of their video “virginity”, but after twenty full length flicks and countless photo shoots, the joke dropped like an anvil.

He was spared the responsibility of providing a much needed blow to ever inflated balloon of Jens’ pathetic humor by the swift and merciless delivery of justice in the form of Eirik’s hand smacking sweetly across the back of his head.

Naturally, Jens immediately turned to Eirik with his winning smile still in place, grabbing the offending hand and holding it to his chest, much to Eirik’s obvious irritation, proclaiming cheerily, “Don’t be upset, babe! I would never consider a scene with my Norway to be anything but getting to mix work with pleasure!”

Berwald sighed and spared Eirik a brief look of pity, far too used to Jens’ antics to be surprised by much of anything any more and yet all too aware of the situation that was slowly but surely building between his two...co-workers.

“I am neither your baby nor your anything, you idiot,” Eirik stated coldly, arching one pale eyebrow as he pulled his hand away and slid from his bar stool to take up residence behind Berwald’s broad back, effectively making Berwald the barrier between his oldest “friend” and the one guy at the office who seemed to appreciate the value of silence in days filled with nothing but false noise.

Jens snorted into his latest round of booze, lips curling downward in a pout as he glared at Berwald, “That’s not what you were saying earlier.”

Berwald could practically feel the ire boiling under the surface of Eirik’s typical frigidity, and, hoping to enjoy at least one drink in peace for the first time since the mysterious Norwegian had joined their team, decided to take on Jens’ foolishness himself.

He sipped his beer slowly, mumbling as he swallowed, “We’re porn stars. Get paid to say that kind of stuff. Can’t be holding Eirik to what he says when he’s Norway.”

Jens shook his head and stared hard into his glass, as if he thought the answers to his questions could be found in fermented hops, before he looked back up at Berwald and Eirik, all traces of frustration erase from the corners of his eyes.

Once again grinning as enthusiastically as ever as he jumped off the stool, crassly informing them that he had to piss, and made a beeline for the men’s room, whistling as he strutted away.

“He hasn’t changed,” Berwald thought as silence descended on the corner of the bar currently being held down by two of Blue Tulip Studio’s top three performers, “Even after seven years. Three of which involved get naked and fucking our colleagues. Sometimes more than one at a time.”

Some days, Berwald could hardly believe that so much time had passed since the afternoon that Jens found him naked in the locker room the summer after they graduated from university, took one critical look at body, eyes lingering far too long on his dick, and asked him if he was up for a little adventure.

After Berwald had stopped feeling queasy from the initial shock of thinking Jens was propositioning him for sex, he’d only been blank with shock when Jens told him all about the flattering Frenchman he’d met at the club who was offering him an opportunity to travel, to make money, to be a star.

All he had to do was perform sex acts on camera that would then be distributed to the horny and adoring masses on the Internet.

Berwald remembered looking at Jens like he was insane, wondering how this man he’d known from the first day in the dorms, who’d pulled him out of his isolation and shyness by throwing an overly friendly arm around his neck and shoving a beer in his hand, would think that he, of all people, would want to go with him to check out this whole being a pornstar deal.

And yet, during that week that they had spent lugging their belongings out of their ratty apartment near KTH, the more Jens talked about what this could be, how much fun they could have, that it would be the best fucking way (excuse the pun) to spend their youth, the more Berwald began to take the idea seriously.

He had been ready to leave Stockholm and the idea of not going it alone was appealing, even if Jens was a brash, loud, troublesome kind of guy. Berwald recalled the list of pros and cons he wrote out one night when he’d had enough liquid courage to actually sit down and really think this chance over.

The pros had included: making money, having a job that didn’t require him to talk much or make any presentations (other than his naked body), being able to move to a new city, and all those years of being on the rowing team finally paying off for him in the paid-for appreciation of his muscles. While he was shy when it came to holding conversations or making his feelings known, he had few reservations about sex, and hadn’t had many complaints over the years. He thought porn might be the one industry that would make good use of his commanding, intimidating face. And well, if it didn’t work out, he had his brand new engineering degree to fall back on.

The cons had mostly been the fact that once your dick was on the Internet, it was always on the Internet. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life that kind of hard evidence (forgive the pun) floating round? What if he couldn’t last long enough? What if his face looked stupid when he was coming? What if he had to do things that were just...unseemly?

Would he ever be able to find a lover would be comfortable with the fact that he had sex for money?

But at the end of that long week of packing and pacing, after endless hours of Jens’ wheedling and marathons views of gay porn so they could be prepared for the competition, and researching Blue Tulip Studios, Berwald had thrown caution to the wind for the first time in his young life and said, “fuck it, let’s go to Amsterdam and try out this porn star thing.”

Well, he’d mostly just nodded his head and grunted, but it was the thought that counted.

And when they’d arrived in Amsterdam and stumbled into Blue Tulip’s studios only to be immediately fawned over by a very attractive and handsy Frenchman, who introduced himself as Francis, the primary director for all of the Tulip’s feature length films. Within thirty minutes, Francis had them strip, grabbed their crotches and, as per the theme of the studio, christened them with their porn star names, _Denmark_ and _Sweden_.

Francis had been beyond excited to have Scandinavians on his roster (which already included a Pole, an American, an Italian, a Greek, and a Spaniard) and had put them to work immediately. Berwald had been so nervous he’d almost thrown-up during his first shoot, for which he’d been paired with the Italian, who’d been sweet and smiled at him and moaned like a whore when Berwald finally turned off his anxiety and just listened to the encouragement and stage directions Francis was shouting at him from behind the camera. It had been one of the most terrifying and liberating things he'd ever done.

After that first video was in the can, he and Jens quickly became the most popular stars for the Tulip. Apparently, his gruff face and huge dick, coupled with his Viking good looks appealed to the lusty masses of strangers downloading his videos.

“Brooding and mysterious, yet somehow also tender, even while pile-driving,” was how he’d been described (much to his chagrin) by a very happy Francis when his second video, a tag-team with Germany and Poland, hit the web. The Blue Tulip had certainly broadened his horizons, even though he’d drawn very specific limits when signing his original contract. Not ever having to come anywhere near a naked and thrusting “Denmark” was just one of his written in stone requests.

Jens, on the other hand, was the go-to-guy for wild, no-holds barred scenes. There was almost nothing and no one he wouldn’t try once. He called himself the "King of the Nordics" and Francis said that he did his ancestry proud with the amount of ass that he conquered.

His grin and his enthusiasm made it so he earned the title of “King of the Wankers” for six months, until the special video, _“Mediterranean Delight,”_ featuring the Spain-Italy-Turkey-Greece foursome, came out and robbed him of his crown for three consecutive sales cycles.

Jens had just managed to get it back, Berwald remembered, and was crowing loudly as he strutted about the office, thrusting his hips and demanding that all the peons bow down to him, when Eirik had walked into the studio for the first time and stopped Jens in his tracks. It was the only time Berwald had ever seen Jens distracted from his own greatness.

Later, Jens had told Berwald that it had been a case of lust at first sight...that Eirik’s cold eyes and lovely face and his small frame with all its hidden strength just made him want to fuck the shit out of him until that dead expression was replaced with emotion. Berwald had arched an eyebrow and shaken his head, knowing that there was no way this was going to end well.

Naturally, Eirik, the studio’s new Norway, hated Jens with all the passion someone as frigid as he could manage. Jens was relentless in his approach and Eirik was equally as vicious in his refusals....which, of course, Francis thought would make for explosively good scenes.

“Oh, Berwald,” Francis had drawled dramatically one night when Berwald had shuffled into his office to express his concerns about throwing the two of them together, “Hate sex, especially when it is passion masquerading as hate, will always be delicious. Besides, Denmark most certainly does not hate Norway. Norway is harder to read, but for all he may loath our divine Dane, he most certainly wants to fuck him. I assure you, my dear Sweden, that this will go very well. Feel free to stick around and watch.”

Berwald didn't accept, uninterested in watching Jens get eviscerated by Eirik, and only later gleaned from Poland and Italy’s water-cooler gossip that the set had practically burned down when Jens finally shut up and Eirik finally put out. It had been an instant best-seller. The servers had nearly crashed from all the traffic.

Francis had been unbearably smug for days. Jens walked around with a new strut in his step. Eirik was as silent and unreadable as ever, which suited Berwald fine, as it was a relief to have one person who understood the value of quietude.

And now, here they were, more than 1.5 years later, and the “Denmark does Norway” videos were still among the highest sellers, Eirik still gave Jens the coldest of cold shoulders, and Berwald went to work, made porn, got paid, and went home to an empty house where he made furniture and read engineering journals for fun.

All of his initial fears had proved unfounded. The Blue Tulip ran a safe, respected operation under the iron fist of its Dutch owner; Amsterdam had proven a welcoming town that it gave Berwald as much anonymity as he craved when he wasn’t pantless and balls-deep in someone on camera. As Sweden, he carried himself with confidence and a touch of swagger, all cut muscles and tight jeans, blue eyes made bolder by contacts, and his hair slicked back.

But when he finished up a fuck and shed the persona, he was just Berwald...a man who was no taller or blonder than any average Dutchman, who wore glasses and nondescript clothes and went out for drinks with his co-workers like anyone else after a hard day’s work.

“Damn it,” Berwald thought ruefully as he shook free from the cobwebs of memory and indulgent self-reflection, “Jens’ idiot humor is rubbing off on me.”

Just as it crossed his mind, Berwald felt a hearty thump on his back as Jens returned to the bar, still smiling as he winked at an unimpressed Eirik and said with an obvious leer,

“How about you and me blow this joint and then each other?”

Eirik looked at him as he might a piece of gum stuck to his shoe, scoffing quietly, “I can’t see why I should when I did that earlier and made money for it.”

Berwald felt a little awkward as Jens leaned across him to stare at Eirik with something other than his usual eagerness, voice edging into stubborn territory, “Ever think it might be cool just do it for fun? Because you want to?”

“With you? Don’t hold your breath...Denmark,” Eirik drawled flatly, keeping his eyes turned deliberately away, which meant he was looking at Berwald, only increasing the tension.

Berwald was about to shift away from the bar and let his two friends carry-out their twisted foreplay without him as a convenient witness and buffer when Jens huffed loudly and announced that he was “Fucking over this place and going somewhere he was fucking appreciated.”

Berwald gave Jens a conciliatory pat on the back and mumbled that he’d cover his bar tab, feeling a little sorry for his friend’s continued inability to recognize Eirik’s deep distaste for him. It was like watching a cat with a box stuck on its head run into walls repeatedly in an effort to get it off.

Once Jens had stomped out in search of more accommodating company, Berwald peered at Eirik’s placid expression, taking a sip of his beer before he let out a long breath and said quietly, “He’s got feelings for you.”

“And this is my problem how?” Eirik murmured as his finger traced patterns in the rings of wetness on the bar.

“So you know and don’t care?” Berwald mumbled lowly, wondering exactly what was going through Eirik’s mind.

“Of course I know. If there’s one thing that man lacks, its subtlety,” Eirik said softly, and Berwald was surprised to hear the slightest hint of warmth in his voice before he continued in his usual disinterested drawl, “But its hardly relevant. I’m good at my job and that means being good at being with him. It could be anyone.”

“So, you’re not going to do anything ‘bout it?” Berwald asked, feeling increasing sympathy for his friend.

Eirik looked at him with surprise, “Do? What is there to do? No, I’m going to continue on as always. I’m a professional, Berwald.”

Berwald shook his head, grumbling, “Its going to cause problems.”

“For him, maybe,” Eirik said, though not unkindly, as he placed one hand on Berwald’s arm, “I don’t believe in looking for love when we fake it all day long.”

“I see,” Berwald said quietly, though in his mind he disagreed entirely, knowing that it was impossible to deny something like love, no matter how hard one tried, that pesky little emotion would make itself known.

Eirik tossed down a few bills on the table, smile frosty and distant as he left Berwald with a few parting words, “You’re wise not to be so desperately seeking affection like your little friend. We’re not meant for that, you and I.”

Berwald ordered another drink, letting Eirik’s thoughts settle with the slow dip of the beer’s foam, wondering if there was any truth in what he’d said. It was true, that when the day was over, he felt like he’d spent all his energy and confidence trying to make a convincing Viking marauder or horny fratboy, and it was difficult to walk up to men he found cute and try to talk to them. Somehow, he always stumbled over his words and his intentions came across all wrong.

It was so much easier when someone just showed up naked and told to want you.

Beyond his natural reticence and intimidating appearance, there was also the matter of his employment. Sure, he’d met his fair share of guys who warmed immediately to the idea of getting laid by a porn star (they clearly didn’t have any clue how truly unglamorous making smut was most days), but very few of those lusty-minded individuals seemed like the type to curl up in his lap on a rainy Sunday and share a coffee.

Porn, he found, was often a cockblock to his more romantic inclinations. His work made him Sweden, Lion of the North, and his work got him laid both on camera and off...but it also made him weary and wary...his limited interpersonal skills rusting away as he 69’d and frottaged his way through life.

But he did want someone who would coo over his cooking and appreciate when he brought flowers and sappy notes that said everything his stupid, stubborn tongue could not. He wanted someone else in bed with him who wasn’t there for a thrill or a paycheck.

The beer made him maudlin, and when he got maudlin and lonely and yearning, Berwald’s thoughts turned inevitably to the now hazy memories of the one he still pictured when he envisioned someone to fit within the span of his arms.

Tino. The sweet, ever unrequited, unspoken crush of Berwald’s awkward adolescence. He’d been the blond, blue-eyed boy of Berwald’s dreams in those days, a year younger with a bright laugh, open smile, and teasing good-nature. He’d been a force to be reckoned with when it came to archery and epic meltdowns in Home Ec. His culinary disasters had been legendary even among the senior class.

And he had always been kind and warm to Berwald, who spoke even less and frowned even more during the dark days of high school as he carted around his physics textbook and spent all his free time training for the rowing team, trying to make something out of his gangly height and odd strength.

He hadn’t seen him in more than eight years, since the day he graduated from high school, looking out at the crowd and pretending that Tino was sitting there just for him. He’d never had the right words or the balls to say anything about his feelings and it wasn’t until he’d come back from his graduation trip, which had been a revelation of booze and boys on some unnamed beach in Spain, that he’d found the wherewithal to confess.

Unfortunately, he'd come home with all his new found confidence only to find that Tino’s family had moved away, and as this was in the days before Facebook, he’d had limited luck in tracking him down. A few emails exchanged that dwindled as Berwald got sucked into the difficult KTH curriculum and Jens’ after-studying chaos.

All his pent-up teenage yearning had faded with the years of studying followed by years of stud-ing...but he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the prettiest guy he’d ever seen and think of Tino when he daydreamed about something softer than sex and stardom. He’d gone so far as to Google him a few months back, in a particularly low moment when his latest attempt at dating had gone terribly awry, only to discover that Tino worked as a diplomat in some distant land, about as far from Berwald and his Red Light District life as could be.

Berwald groaned and shook his head when the bartender asked him if he wanted another drink, tired of his morose thoughts and his low-burning buzz. It was either time to go home and or go out and get properly drunk.

He checked his calendar on his phone. Nothing but a dentist appointment at two and a blissfully free evening to spend time working on his latest project.

Berwald paid the tab and texted Jens, figuring that he might as well go be loneliest pornstar in the world with someone else, an awful lot of booze, and a crowd of admirers ready to fill his thoughts with anything other than Eirik’s parting words for a few hours.

Tomorrow was another day.


	2. Chapter 2

Drinking with Jens was always a mistake and yet Berwald had not truly internalized that particular fact, even after seven years of wasted nights and painful mornings. The previous night had been even more over the top than usual, with both men crossing the line from living the high life to a touch of drowning of the sorrows.

First, Jens had insisted on dropping by their usual haunt on Reguliersdwarsstraat to do some promotion for the Blue Tulip’s upcoming re-release of the adult film classic that had made Francis a legend: _Hundred Years’ Whore_. Berwald had been content to sit back and drink free beer while watching Jens perform his magic as a salesman.

By the time they had stumbled out of one of the clubs in Rembrandtplein, filled with as many tourists as locals, Jens was slumped across his shoulder mumbling incoherently about frosty men who were just begging for a good spanking to get them all hot and bothered. For his part, Berwald had made the poorly timed decision to ask if Jens knew any cute, small, blonds he could date, which Jens naturally took to be a request to pursue Eirik and led to a ridiculous, tumbling scuffle in one of the dirtiest alleys in Amsterdam.

The evening did not rank highly on Berwald’s list of accomplishments. Especially not at 1:30pm the next day when his head was still pounding, he had a fine set of bruises on his knees that were going to make Monday’s wall-sex scene with Poland terribly uncomfortable, and he had a dentist appointment in thirty minutes.

Resolving to make the wise choice of going home to brood in relative sobriety the next time he felt lonely and old, Berwald dragged himself out of his apartment near Frederiksplein in desperate need of a coffee and cookie before facing the dentist’s drill.

De Koffie Salon was still somewhat full with lunchtime diners, leaving Berwald with few options for seating once he’d snagged a cup of Amsterdam’s strongest coffee, taken black and with a stroopwafel on the side. He had just managed to settle into one of the remaining chairs, knees knocking uncomfortably under the small cafe table (really, why did the Dutch, as the tallest people in the world, insist on making everything so damned cramped), when his musings on the failings of Dutch interior design were interrupted by a pleasant voice asking:

“Umm, excuse me, but do I know you?”

Berwald sighed internally before turning to see what Blue Tulip fanboy was about to out himself as a big Sweden fan. It was always so awkward to have these sorts of run-ins at his local haunts, where everyone just knew him as the silent, scary guy in glasses that ordered the same thing everyday.

He looked up to find a very attractive and somehow familiar man with blond hair, big expressive eyes, wearing a flattering suit and a polite smile gazing at him quizzically. His own brow furrowed, narrowing his eyes, as he tried to place where exactly it was he had seen this guy before.

The man in the suit took a hesitant step back and Berwald reminded himself for the twentieth time that week that he had to harder to make his concentration face look less murderous. Suddenly, the clouds cleared from the familiar-strangers face as once again came closer, his polite smile blossoming into something genuine and breathtaking.

“Berwald Oxenstierna! It is you! I thought I recognized that formidable frown!”

Berwald nearly tipped his coffee over the table when he realized just who was standing in front of him, grinning cautiously, as if not quite sure what to make of the hulking man currently making a mess of his beverage.

 _Tino._

After all these years and just a few hours since he’d drunkenly proclaimed his undying desire for his high school crush, here was Tino, in the admittedly very good looking flesh, holding a briefcase, an umbrella, and small cup of espresso.

For a long moment, Berwald could say nothing, too taken aback by the sudden appearance of his past before him, staring in blank shock until Tino began to shift nervously, laughing a little as he held out a hand and said:

“I’m Tino---we went to high school together in Sweden for a few years. Do you remember me?”

The sight of Tino’s hand in front of his face, waiting to be grasped snapped Berwald out of his momentary stupor long enough for him to mumble, “Course I do. Just surprised is all.”

He placed his hand in Tino’s, skin warm and smooth as they shook and Tino smiled with evident relief.

“I’m surprised as well! But when you travel as much as I do, you never know who you’re going to run into!” Tino said pleasantly, some of the nervousness leaving him as he relaxed his tight grip on the tiny teacup.

“You’re a diplomat, right?” Berwald asked without thinking, immediately regretting the running of his mouth, when Tino’s eyebrow arched questioningly, though his voice was still light as he asked:

“That’s right. How did you know that?”

“Because I got tipsy and maudlin one night and Googled you,” Berwald thought as he scrambled to come up with a viable excuse for why it was he knew the career choice of a man he hadn’t seen since he was eighteen years old.

What he came up with was the lamest, vaguest reason in the book: “Mother told me. Must have heard it from someone back home,” but it seemed to do the trick as Tino immediately relaxed and smiled at him again.

“Ah, the old mother grapevine. Good to know its still a viable way of getting gossip, no matter time or distance,” Tino said as he tried to balance his briefcase and umbrella to take a sip of his coffee.

Flooded with relief at not being found out for the Internet stalker that he was, Berwald’s manners and good sense finally caught up with him. With one large hand he gestured towards the empty chair in front of him, trying to soften his lips into something resembling a smile as he said, “Sit down, sit down.”

“Thanks, I will. Can’t stay long, unfortunately, but it is always much better to go back to work without espresso stains on my shirt,” Tino said cheerily while settling down across from Berwald, shaking his head slightly as he said, “I can’t believe running into you like this!”

Berwald grunted, nodding as he peered at Tino, trying not to stare too obviously as he took in the changes of almost a decade of separation. Where there had once been a cute teenager there was now a handsome man, soft features sharpened slightly by age, taller (though still dwarfed by Berwald’s height), a little broader, and as appealing as ever.

He was startled to find that Tino seemed to be looking at him with the same badly disguised curiosity, his lips tilted upwards in what appeared to be approval.

They both flushed and cleared their throats with an awkward laugh as they busted each other in their mutual staring, and Berwald was at once flustered and flattered to be so obviously appreciated.

“Do you live in Amsterdam, Berwald?” Tino asked lightly, eyes lingering on the anxious drumming of Berwald’s fingers on the small table.

“I do,” he assented, jerking his head to the right, “Live just down the way from here. And you?”

“I’ve just moved to the city a few weeks back,” Tino said as he gazed out the window, fiddling with his cup.

Berwald wondered again at the awesomeness of fate that he should find Tino within such a short time in such a big city. Seemed almost impossible that something so good and so unexpected would happen.

“You don’t work in the Hague?” Berwald asked, curious to why Tino would be here instead of in the primary embassy in the capital.

Tino sighed and finished his coffee, “I’ve been attached to the Honorary Consul General here in Amsterdam for the time being. The perils of being one of the junior staffers, I’m afraid. The office isn’t far from here and I enjoy walking during my lunch to get to know the city.”

"Well," Berwald thought ruefully, "that explained the serendipity of it all."

He started when the loud scrape of Tino’s chair pushing back from the table rang in his ears, tongue going immediately tied when it appeared that Tino was about to leave before they’d even really had a chance to talk, before he’d been able to ask for his number, an email address, or anything that might ensure that contact wouldn’t be lost again for another eight years.

“Speaking of work, I’m so sorry to cut this short, but I have to get back. My boss is a bit of a slave driver, if you know what I mean,” Tino said laughingly as he gathered his things.

Berwald said nothing, trying to determine if Francis asking him to shoot D/s scenes with one of the Baltic boys counted, suddenly flooded with relief that the conversation had been cut short before he had to answer the inevitable, “so what do you do for work” question.

In spite of that, he wanted more time to hear anything and everything that had happened to Tino since that summer graduation day in a Stockholm suburb. He was fumbling through his coat pocket for his phone, intending to make the first move for once, to take a risk and ask for Tino’s number, when a small square of white was waved in front of his face, making him grunt in irritated surprise.

“Oh, sorry,” Tino said sheepishly, looking as innocent and adorable as he had at sixteen when he’d managed to run into Berwald in the hallways of their school and sent all their belongings crashing to the floor, “I wanted to give you my card so you can have my coordinates.”

Now annoyed at himself for having even been momentarily annoyed with Tino when he was giving him the very thing he wanted, Berwald stood up, towering awkwardly over his companion as he mumbled his own apology and took the card in hand.

“Thanks,” he said as he pocketed it, noticing the attractive blush on Tino’s cheeks, already making plans to send an email (after he’d polled his co-workers as to how long was best to wait to contact someone without seeming creepy) to ask to meet again.

To catch-up. (Or fall into bed. Or in love. Berwald wasn’t picky).

But once again, Tino pleasantly surprised him by taking the initiative, shuffling forward, smile shy and warm as he said, “I’d love to get together again soon. I’m so new here and it’s so nice to see a familiar face.”

Berwald smirked, feeling suddenly playful and buoyant from Tino’s time and attention, replying cheekily, “Even if its a scary one?”

Tino smacked him on the arm, rolling his eyes with obvious amusement, “Ha-ha, I can see you still think you’re very clever. I’ve got plans this weekend, but are you free on Monday?”

Berwald did a quick internal calendar check...Monday, nothing too pressing except pressing Poland up against a wall and having him six ways to Sunday as part of the latest installment in the “ _When in Warsaw.._.” series.

He choose not to mention this to Tino, going instead with a simple, “Yes.”

Tino smiled happily until he looked at his watch, eyes going wide in panic.

“I’ve got to go. But, listen, since I didn’t get your card, shoot me an email or give me a call so we can plan for Monday.”

"Ah, yes," Berwald thought as he watched Tino start to move towards the door, "my business card: _Berwald Oxenstierna: Lion of the North and Pornstar Extraordinaire."_

How was he ever going to explain something like that to someone like Tino?

Tino paused at the door, leaving Berwald with the the sight of a gorgeous grin that lifted his spirits and the sound of innocent parting words that sank his ship:

“I’m looking forward to hearing all about what you’ve up to all these years, Berwald!”

 _More like up WHO_ , Berwald’s black humor tossed out in his mind as turned to stare at Tino as he walked down the street with a swing in his step.

He pulled the business card back out his pocket, pulse humming with excitement at the thought of being further reunited with Tino, even despite the looming issue of how to answer the question about his current employment.

He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Or on it. Whichever.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh my God, Sweden,” Feliks groaned as he flopped dramatically on the couch, rubbing his thighs and grimacing, “Did you like only eat Wheaties or something this weekend?”

Berwald, used to “Poland’s” dramatics, had no clue what the pretty Pole was talking about and merely grunted in response, tying his robe and sitting down next to his scene partner.

Feliks smacked him weakly, cracking open one eye to glare in accusation, “You’re totes always a professional and good at what you do, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to sit down properly tonight. Something so got into you.”

Berwald snorted, breaking one of the major rules of porn when he mumbled a crass joke under his breath, “I thought I got in you.”

“Wow, you did not just say that!” Feliks squealed in mock offense, “Okay, first you’re like Mr. Enthusiasm and Excitement during the shoot and now you’re making Denmark-esque jokes. What gives? What’s got you in such a tizzy-dizzy good mood?”

Seeing the manic glint of gossip hunting alive and well in Feliks’s eyes, Berwald knew he had no other choice but to cough up the truth.

“Got a date tonight. Or at least I think its a date.”

“Oooohhhhhh,” Feliks said knowingly, tongue peeking out between his lips, “And that’s like what’s got you all hot and bothered, huh?”

Berwald shrugged noncommittally. While it was true he’d been exchanging texts with Tino all weekend, some which he kinda-sorta thought might have been a little flirty, there had been nothing overt enough to convince him that Tino was interested in him for anything more than conversation and company in a big new city.

“Well, the soreness in my back from *some body’s* enthusiasm can totes confirm that you’ve got something going on,” Feliks snarked as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

“Who’s got what going on now?” A loud, cheery, voice interrupted as Jens came strolling into the room wearing nothing but a towel and a grin.

Feliks pushed up from the couch, smiling evilly as he totally sold Berwald out, “Your BFF has a wicked hot date tonight. Which is great and all, just don’t let him anywhere near your ass if you wanna like be able to sit down anytime soon!”

He strolled out of the room with a taunting, “Ta-ta, Sweden. Good luck tonight!”

Jens choked with laughter while Berwald shuddered in revulsion at the thought of going anywhere near Jens’ private parts.

“Hot date, eh? How come your best bro hasn’t heard anything about this exciting development in Little Berwald’s life?”

Berwald rolled his eyes, grumbling, “Not any of your business, asshole. Going out with someone I used to know. Just moved to Amsterdam and wants some company.”

The smirk on Jens’ face clearly said that he wasn’t buying what Berwald was selling, “Uh-huh. You gonna give him a true Blue Tulip welcome to Holland?”

“No! I haven’t even told him about all...this. Don’t see the point if its not going to go anywhere,” Berwald mumbled heatedly, cursing Jens for reminding him about the massive elephant that was always in the room whenever he tried pursuing someone new.

“Whatever, you big baby. Look, if he doesn’t approve, fuck him. Or, you know, don’t fuck him,” Jens said, winking in that obnoxious know-it-all way that never failed to grate on Berwald’s nerves.

“I’ll handle it,” Berwald answered sternly.

“I’ll bet you will!”

Berwald groaned at the lameness that was Jens, standing up to stretch, feeling the burn in his muscles from holding up Feliks’s weight for their shoot. He looked at the clock, surprised it was already late in the afternoon.

“Thought you had a scene with Eirik going right now?” Berwald asked, eying Jens as he shifted and sighed.

“Boss man canceled it,” Jens spat, his near perma-grin slipping into something dark and frustrated, “Apparently our last two films didn’t do too well with the subscribers. ”

Berwald was surprised. Deeply surprised as the Denmark-Norway smut had always been among the Blue Tulips best-sellers. He wondered if it had anything to do with the strange new tension that had bubbled up between the two men in the growing obviousness of Jens’ less than professional feelings for his co-star.

Jens ran a hand through his already mussed hair, “And you know its all about money with that Dutch jackass. So Norge and I get benched. He told me that he’d let me back on camera when I managed to get my head back on straight. So to speak.”

Berwald nodded, patting Jens sympathetically on the shoulder, not quite sure how to broach the subject, preferring to leave that minefield to the decision makers, especially know that he knew Eirik had zero intention of dealing with or returning Jens’ feelings. Maybe this little time-out from fucking each other would cool Jens’ ardor.

Or make it ten times worse. This was going to be fun.

But he had his own shit to worry about right then as the clock ticked ever closer to his re-reunion with Tino and he needed enough time to go home wash Sweden down the drain and wrap himself back in the familiar trappings of Berwald.

Jens tossed his head back, sighing before he turned back to Berwald with one of his less dazzling smiles to say, “But, hey, enough about me. You gotta go pretend to be good boy Berwald for your hot-not-a-date.”

“Could be a date!” Berwald protested, thinking of how cute Tino’s messages had been.

“Well, then get to it my man! Make your big brother Jens proud!” Jens cheered, giving Berwald his patented thumbs up, “Good luck!”

Apparently having come directly from the office, Tino was wearing a lavender shirt that really brought out his eyes, making it difficult for Berwald to concentrate properly when Tino set down his menu, smiled at him, and began the routine “getting to re-know you” questioning.

“You went to KTH after high school? What was that like?”

Berwald nodded, fiddling a little with his tie, wondering if perhaps it was a bit much for a Monday dinner, secretly hoping it would lead Tino to believe he had a job that did indeed require him to wear clothes, not just rip them off.

“Studied engineering. Difficult, but enjoyable.”

“And do you use your degree now?” Tino asked as he loosened the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up to reveal his slim wrists, as pale as Berwald’s own. He thought about all the furniture designs scattered around his flat and the various pieces he’d managed to put together in his free time, and thought it wasn’t strictly engineering per se....

He decided it wasn’t a lie to answer, “I do. Comes in handy.”  
Quickly, before Tino could continue grilling him, Berwald decided to turn the investigation around, asking, “Got back that summer after graduation and you’d moved. Where did you go?”

Tino tapped a finger against his lips, “Let’s see, I think that’s when we moved to Washington, D.C. Yes, that’s when I decided I wanted to follow in Dad’s footsteps and go into the foreign service. I went back to Helsinki for university, studied abroad in China, then did a masters in Russia, first assignment in Kiev, and now here I am!”

Berwald blinked slowly. mentally drawing a map of everywhere Tino had been in less than a decade, duly impressed by Tino’s seemingly tireless enthusiasm for the world.

“So, how did you end up in Amsterdam, Berwald?” Tino asked sweetly, smiling at him over the rim of his wine glass.

“Moved out here with Jens, a guy I met at university, about three years ago,” Berwald answered succinctly, unsure of whether to feel bad or elated at the Tino’s sudden moue of disappointment.

He quickly clarified, putting heavy stress on the word friend, “Jens is a friend. Definitely nothing more.”

“Oh, I see,” Tino said, smiling once again, voice playful, “I’m glad to hear it. Always good to have friends.”

Well, Berwald thought happily, that answers the ‘is this a date question.’

He leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand, smirking a little at Tino’s temptingly cute grin, murmuring, “Yes, friends are nice.”

“Are you looking for more?” Tino said, a hint of invitation in his eyes and Berwald couldn’t help but be charmed by his teasing.

“Course. I’m a very friendly guy,” Berwald said lowly, fully enjoying the exchange.

Tino blinked at him slowly, and the way he licked his lips, just the tiniest peek of tongue sliding over the corner of his mouth was hotter than anything the Blue Tulip had thrown at him in months.

“Mmm, well, its my job to establish good relations, so I think we’ll get along nicely, don’t you?” Tino practically purred, making Berwald want to demand to know where exactly he learned how to flirt like such a pro, until his sexy smile dissolved into happy giggles.

“Oh god, that was so cheesy! I’m sorry, Berwald, but I can’t help myself...bad puns are my weakness!” Tino said behind the hand that was trying and failing to muffle his laughter.

He wasn’t sure which was more charming: deadly-flirt Tino or this flushed and giggling Tino. Either way, Berwald liked it all, as he gave in and laughed right along with Tino, already certain this was the best first date he’d ever been on.

When the evening came to a close, the check delivered by a waitress who smiled at them knowingly, Berwald was feeling warm and content, looking at Tino’s slightly haze eyes, trying not to stare too hard at his unbuttoned collar and the inviting dip of his neck that seemed to be calling his name.

He grumbled when Tino pulled out his wallet and grabbed the check until Tino waved him off with, “Let me. You can get the check next time.”

“Next time?” Berwald asked hopefully, enchanted by the pinking of Tino’s cheeks, completely amused by Tino’s vacillation between confidence and hesitation.

Tino nodded and bit his lip and Berwald couldn’t help but lean across the table to press a quick kiss to his cheek, murmuring, “Thanks. I’ll look forward to it.”

He was going to sit back down, heart already racing unnecessarily from something as chaste as peck on the cheek, when Tino turned deadly seducer once again, lacing his fingers through Berwald’s tie and kissing him, quickly, but with sure, unmistakable intent.

“I will, too,” Tino whispered, smirking slyly as he let Berwald slump back into his seat, rubbing a thumb over his lips and winking.

Later, when he was home, alone once again behind closed doors, still floating on the high of a great date, Berwald realized just how much trouble he was in.

Tino was fun and intelligent and goofy and charming and handsome. Half sweetheart and half seductive imp. A combination as irresistible as beer and french fries.

Tino liked him, which was amazing, and Tino clearly wanted him, which was even better....but....he’d failed to come clean about his line of work and how could he go to bed with Tino or even get to second base without telling the truth.

Next time, Berwald promised, next time, before Tino could charm him with his wicked wiles, or his cute laughter, he would sit him down and tell him, “I’m a pornstar. Please say you still want to go on date #3 with me.”

 _Next time._


	4. Chapter 4

He meant it when he promised that he would come clean next time. Really, he did...it was just that Tino was turning out to be more than just the man of his hazy, sad-drunk, daydreams and there was something so intimidating about bursting that fragile little bubble of happiness he felt every time his phone buzzed with a cutesy text or they made plans to go play tourist in Amsterdam.

There was just one, teeny, tiny little problem (besides the massive issue of the lie-by-omission about his chosen profession) with his continued need to avoid the subject.

No sex.

He couldn’t take Tino to bed without being honest first and even though he was doing his level, boyscout, best to keep his hands mostly to himself while he worked up the courage to confess, Tino was proving to be very uncooperative.

On the second date, Berwald took Tino to dinner at the Ciel Bleu, hoping to distract him from awkward conversations about work with the Michelin-star cuisine and the views of Old Amsterdam. While Tino was indeed too impressed by the fine food, plentiful booze, and the sun setting over the city to ask him exactly what kind of engineering he did to keep him flush with enough cash to afford such an extravagant dinner...the indulgence also had the affect of making Tino rather amorous.

Which was lovely, of course, and Berwald was happy to hold hands across the table and be gifted with the vision of Tino’s heavy, inviting stare as he licked his spoon clean of some ridiculously expensive concoction. And it was lovely to enjoy the teasing lilt of Tino’s voice as he told a story about how he’d thought Berwald was the scariest guy he’d ever seen on his first day at their high school. It was also lovely to have an intelligent conversation that had nothing to do with which brand of lube stained the sheets on set the least, or which brand of make-up seemed to cover-up unsightly blemishes that just were not acceptable for porn in HD.

And so when the check came and they strolled out of the restaurant full of food and flirtation, leaning into each other as they walked, Berwald had never been so tempted to say yes to Tino’s less than coy offer of a cup of coffee at his place to cap the evening.

It only made it that much harder to say no and go home to jerk off in the shower when Tino slid a hand in his pocket, squeezed his thigh and kissed him deeply, the wet insistent slide of his tongue over his lips making his intentions all too clear.

Tino had pouted prettily at Berwald’s refusal before shrugging his shoulders and giggling that “Berwald was so old fashioned. Waiting until a third date! Wouldn’t his mother be proud?”

“Ah yes, me and my old fashioned ways. That’s definitely what’s holding me back,” Berwald had thought sarcastically the day after Date #2 as he relieved his sexual frustration in a scene featuring a German Gladiator, an Italian Slave, and a Swedish Pirate.

(Francis occasionally gave into the Boss Man’s demands that he choose making money via fanservice rather than sticking to historical accuracy because “it was fucking porn and people wanted to get-off, not get taught!”).

Both Italy and Germany had raised an eyebrow and asked exactly what had him so gung-ho about his not-even-starring role in _The Sucking of Rome_ and all he’d managed to do was wander away, grumbling about the pressures of Date # 3.

And so, in a fit of pique, Berwald decided that in order to buy himself just a little bit more time to make Tino like him enough that he wouldn’t immediately run screaming back to Finland when he found out his dirty secret, he would just have make sure their next dates were during the day and involved incredibly unsexy activities.

For their third date, Berwald picked up Tino at 5:00am to make the trek over to the flower auction in Aalsmeer, hoping the early morning would be a deterrent to anything more scandalous than holding hands and kissing while looking at all the pretty flowers. This proved to be true until Berwald made the “mistake” of buying Tino a little pot of violets as a housewarming gift and Tino promptly blushed and murmured something about, “Needing Berwald to come over and help him find the best place for his new plant. Preferably by the bed, since it had the best lighting.”

Later that afternoon, after begging off Tino’s entreaties to come over and watch a movie all cuddled up on his couch, Berwald spent another long, cold, half-hour in the shower.

And the next day at work, he apparently gave it to Estonia in _Livonian Licentiousness_ so well that even Francis was shocked.

It seemed that not getting laid was having the unexpected side effect of making him very good at his job. (It was small comfort to his dick, which was loudly demanding to know why it was not getting better acquainted with Tino right fucking now.)

Berwald approached the fourth date with trepidation and determination. Trepidation because Tino had insisted on planning it, taking away all of Berwald’s little avoidance tactics. Determination because he really, really, did want to be truthful, because he cared about Tino. And, if, by some miracle, Tino wasn’t totally turned-off and he was able to finally go ahead and have as much sex as humanely possible with him, all the better.

The confession faded from his mind, blurred by the pleasure of sharing beautiful art and quiet conversation with a beautiful man as they wandered through the many halls of the Rijks Museum, content to finally have someone with which to share such an afternoon. The confession played on the tip of his tongue throughout dinner, though he could not find the words to say, as he listened to Tino speak forcefully about the many troubling situations in the world he hoped one day to ameliorate, even if in a small way, through diplomacy and action.

The words died and blew away entirely when they stood on the steps to Tino’s apartment building in the shadows of the street lights and Tino smiled at him, something low and soft and private, leaning in to kiss him as he whispered, “I’m really glad I met you again, Berwald.”

How was he supposed to ruin a moment as sweet as that, one that he had craved for so long that he actually blushed. When you had done the things that he had, blushing should have been a forgotten art.

So he swallowed his confession down, promising himself once again “next time,” and tried to say something else entirely as he accepted Tino’s kiss and returned it entirely.

(I’m so glad I met you again too, where did a nice boy like you learn how to do that with your tongue, I’m crazy about you, if you put your hands any lower, you’re going to be grabbing my dick.)

And though Tino’s face was crushing to him in its disappointment and hurt, and though his body was asking him exactly what the fuck he wasn’t doing, Berwald extricated himself from Tino’s warm and tempting embrace, made his excuses about an early day at the office and went home alone, to yet another cold shower and a lackluster wank.

Following that debacle, Berwald almost been relieved to go to work and expend all his pent up energy and desire in a very well choreographed and acrobatic threesome shoot with Poland and Italy. Once he had finished fucking them to Francis’ directorial content, trying not to think about just how it was that Tino knew the exact way he liked to be kissed while Poland was shouting nonsense about “coming over there and making Warsaw his capitol,” Berwald asked his two exhausted co-stars to have a little chat.

While Berwald found that they both had a propensity to talk too much and say very little when they didn’t have a dick in their mouths, they were also they only people he knew who were both pornstars and in long-term relationships. And he secretly liked them both very much.

And he needed help. Without help, Tino was totally going to dump him for being a prude. Which was just not cool.

“Ve, Berwald, you’ve been so enthusiastic and manly lately!” Feliciano cooed at him while Feliks snorted and rubbed his knees.

“Whatevs, more like horny and frustrated and taking it out my poor, beautiful bod,” Feliks sniffed daintily, “Toris is like totally going to come kick your ass if you keep leaving me all bruised up, Berry.”

“Don’t call me Berry,” Berwald glowered, before remembering he wanted these two fools to help him out.

“Speaking of Toris....”

“My super adorable awesome boyfriend? Yes, let’s totally speak of him!” Feliks said delightedly, suddenly no longer annoyed at Berwald for his, ah, robust earlier performance.

Feliciano waved his hands excitedly “Oh, oh, let’s talk about Ludwig, too! He’s also very adorable!”

“Fine,” Berwald said shortly, taking a deep breath before mumbling, “How do I tell someone I’m dating that I do porn and have them still want to date me?”

Feliciano hummed thoughtfully, shrugging his shoulders apologetically, “Sorry, Berwald, I don’t think I can help you much. How can Ludwig be mad at me when he’s a pornstar, too?”

“True,” Berwald said, scolding himself for having forgotten something so obvious. Clearly the lack of non-paid for sex was going to his head.

Feliciano patted him kindly on the arm, smiling as he said, “Don’t worry, too much! If he likes you, he’ll like all of you! And if it doesn’t work out, well, I’ve heard the Boss and Francis say they were thinking of something extra special for you because you’ve been doing such a good job lately! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Berwald just stared as he left the room with a wave and skip that shouldn’t have been possible considering what Sweden was doing to him an hour earlier, his mind stuck on wondering exactly what “extra special” entailed until Feliks snapped him out of it with an annoyed:

“Yoohoo! I thought we were going to talk about me and my extra special Toris!”

“Oh, right,” Berwald said, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, “So, what did you do?”

Feliks smirked at him knowingly, “You totally still haven’t told your new hottie about your naughty little pastime have you?”

“No.” Berwald snapped guiltily.

“Better get to it, buck-o!” Feliks said, smacking him with a pillow before flopping back dramatically, voice going theatrically wistful, “I told Toris as soon as we were reunited. I mean it like totally just kind of came out, but then again, Toris has always had that effect on me!”

“He knew you from before?” Berwald said, at once even more interested in Feliks’ story.

Feliks closed his eyes and smiled genuinely, “Yeah, we were sweethearts in college. Toris and I were kinda thrown together but then we just couldn’t be separated. Then he got forced to move to Russia for a bit because of some total family drama, but as soon as it was over, he came and found me! We’re like totally devoted, you know!”

“What did he say when you told him?” Berwald asked, charmed in spite of himself by the obvious affection in Feliks’ words.

Feliks cracked open one eye, giving Berwald a steely glare, “I didn’t bullshit him and I didn’t act all woe-is-me, hide-in-the-closet-ashamed. I put it out there as just another part of me to love.”

“Take it or leave it?” Berwald said hesitantly.

“Well, like, I obviously gave him time to freak out and throw a hissy fit. And we talked and I answered his like ten thousand questions, but when it came down to it, yeah, take it or leave it,” Feliks said as he stood up, stretching lazily like a cat.

“I see. Thanks,” Berwald responded quietly, musing over Feliks’ story, knowing that it was about time that he took matters into his own hands and told his truth so that maybe Tino would take him into his hands.

Feliks sauntered over to the door, winking saucily before he tossed out, “Besides, he’d like totally had practice with this kinda thing before when he caught me wearing a miniskirt and six-inch heels!”

  
Date #5 and Berwald was finally ready to bite the proverbial bullet and tell Tino his deep dark secret. In order to make sure that Tino could do nothing unexpectedly cute or charming, Berwald asked him over to dinner at his place, fully intending to cough up the truth before he served him even an hors d’oeuvre. He was going to pour Tino a drink, tell him how much he liked him and wanted to be with him, and then lay it on the line. He had it all planned out.

He was going to take matters into hand, just as he promised himself, there were going to be no deviations from the plan.

The plan went flying out the window the second that Tino stepped through the door, over the threshold, and launched himself into Berwald’s arms, kissing him as though his life depended on it and wrapped his legs around Berwald’s waist. The plan drowned in the canal when Tino’s hands wormed their way under his collar at the same time his tongue was dragging a hot and steady path down Berwald’s neck, making him feel as though he were on fire.

When Tino started shifting under the hands Berwald had been forced to place under his ass (for support! He was a professional after all!), sighing into his mouth as he pushed his cock against Berwald’s abs, Berwald knew he had to put a halt to this right now or Tino was going to get fucked in the hallway over the table he used to collect his junk mail.

With a great shudder and even greater effort, Berwald shuffled them into the living room, depositing Tino onto the couch with a thump. Tino smirked at him lasciviously, almost convicing Berwald to forgo honesty just this one last time when he ran a hand over his crotch and beckoned him closer.

The smirk dropped away into a frustrated grimace when Berwald sat down gingerly in the chair furthest away from the couch, trying to tamp down his arousal.

Tino slapped his hand down as he turned to glare at Berwald, shocking Berwald with his bald, demanding, question, “Okay. Enough is enough. Why, exactly, won’t you fuck me?”

Berwald gaped, swallowing ineffectually as he tried to recover enough to answer.

Tino, however, was not so daunted and kept right on speaking, flushing adorably as he ranted, “I know you want to! You look at me like you want to do unspeakable things to me half the time and like you want to cuddle me up the other half!”

Berwald wasn’t aware that he could look anything but angry and scary, secretly thrilled to know that he could communicate other feelings with his stony face.

“So, what is the problem?” Tino said, coming to stand in front of Berwald, frustrating melting into concern that in turn melted Berwald’s heart that much more.

It was going to be terrible if Tino didn’t want him any more.

He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before the plunge, “I do want to. So much. I really like you.”

He felt Tino’s hand close around his wrist, warm and comforting as he said, “I really like you, too.”

He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to watch when he said, “The thing is...I’m a pornstar.”

Of all the reaction he expected, irritated, scoffing laughter was not one of them.

“What kind of lame excuse is that?!” Tino said disbelievingly, “You’re going to have to make up something better than being a pornstar.”

Berwald sighed, grabbing Tino’s hand and forcing him to pay attention, speaking slowly and seriously, “It’s true. I am. You can look me up online as Sweden from The Blue Tulip Studios.”

Tino just stared at him for a long, excruciating moment, as though he were trying to guage whether or not Berwald was telling him the truth.

It was the longest, most silent and crushing moment of Berwald’s life.

Until Tino dropped his hand away, running shaking fingers through his hair as he tried to smile, shufflng away from Berwald.

He looked so young and confused that Berwald wanted to hold him, but he knew that he had to do what Feliks said and give him all the time he needed to understand this revelation. That he had to give Tino permission to accept or reject him without interference.

Tino sighed a little, sounding more perplexed than disgusted when he finally said, “Ummm. Wow. That is not what I expected to hear.”

“I understand.”

Tino moved to put his shoes on, the action making something twist harsh and unpleasant in Berwald’s chest.

“Look, I just need some time to think....” Tino said hesitantly, as though he didn’t want to be unkind.

Berwald knew the only thing he could do was smile a little and repeat, “I understand.”

And then wait. And see.


	5. Chapter 5

Waiting sucked. And not in that positive life-affirming way. In the immediate aftermath of Tino’s hasty, blushing, departure, Berwald cracked open a beer and made apologies to his sex-drive that it seemed as though his need to be honest had blown it. Again, not in that positive life-affirming way.

For an hour he paced the floor of his small living room, trying to take comfort in the fact that Tino hadn’t called him any names or even really seemed terribly put out by the revelation. Mostly, he’d seemed surprised, a little flustered, and maybe just a tiny bit curious. He wondered how he would have taken it had Tino told him something similar. It wouldn’t have been pretty.

In need of distraction from the ticking of the clock and the silence of his phone, Berwald decided what he needed was to get out of his apartment, to go somewhere so loud and crowded he wouldn’t be able to think about the way Tino’s breathy, teasing little “Oh!” had sounded . A situation like this called for texting. It called for Jens.

 _To: Jens  
Busy?_

 **From: Jens  
Fuck no. Tried to get Eirik to come over so we could rediscover our “inspiration” but he shot me down.**

 _To: Jens  
Shocking._

 **From: Jens  
Don’t sass me. I know he totally wants me!**

 _To: Jens  
His constant rejection definitely supports that hypothesis. Idiot._

 **From: Jens  
What did I say about sassing me? Like you’re one to talk. Who’s the lonely loser texting me on a Friday night?**

“True,” Berwald was forced to admit, though needling Jens had given me a momentary reprieve from thinking about his own romantic failures.

 _To: Jens  
Drink? Usual place?_

 **From: Jens  
Make it DRINKS. Lots of drinks and I’m so fucking there.**

 _To: Jens  
See you in 20._

Though drinking with Jens was a sad, sad, substitute for what he’d hoped would be his Friday night, Berwald tried to salvage what he could, refusing to sit at home brooding and wondering, wandering dejectedly into his bedroom to change out of his Berwald clothes into something a touch more Sweden.

(It never hurt to look the part at the bars. When drinking with Jens, free booze was not something at which to scoff.)

He was just about to switch the glasses for the contacts when his doorbell started ringing insistently, making his heart start racing with irrational hope that Tino had come back, though he tried to tell himself that it was probably just Jens being a moron as he moved down the hallway to open the door.

Berwald was fairly certain that he’d never been so damned delighted to have his wildest hopes come true in his entire life when he came face to face with a breathless and flushed Tino, standing on his doorstep looking slightly more disheveled and impossibly more appealing than he had when he’d fled two hours earlier.

“I’d like to take this scene from the top, please,” was all Tino said before he once again threw himself without reservation and with a considerable amount of gusto into Berwald’s arms, threading his fingers through Berwald’s hair and pushing the mouths together in an obscene slide of lips and tongues.

Confused, elated, and not all that interested in threatening his amazing good fortune, Berwald decided to temporarily forgo his thousand questions and allow Tino to kiss him within an inch of his life instead.

Berwald grunted and kicked the door shut, pressing Tino up against the frame, wedging a knee between his legs and framing his lovely face between his hands, gentling the fervor of their kiss into something slow and sensual, a proper greeting from a proper gentleman.

When Tino finally stopped biting at his lips and dragging his nails up and down his biceps, Berwald managed to break away long enough to ask the one question he absolutely had to ask:

“Guess you don’t mind then?”

Tino smirked at him, low and hot, arching his body into Berwald like the little tease that he was, murmuring, “At first I was a little surprised. I mean, really, you...the sweetest, most reserved guy I’ve ever met being in porn? And then I was a little mad, because you didn’t tell me right away.”

Berwald trailed apologetic kisses up the welcoming slope of Tino’s neck, obliging him with more when Tino tilted his head to the side and sighed in pleasure.

“And then?” Berwald mumbled against the shell of his ear, letting his tongue trace the curve, feeling his cock twitch in his pants when Tino shivered and rubbed his own obvious arousal against his leg.

“And then I went home and looked you up, Sweden-you, I mean, online. I watched like every free clip I could find. You were amazing. I always found you sexy, but my gods, seeing you like that, doing all those things. It was so hot.”

Berwald stilled, astonished to find that he was blushing, astonished to know that Tino’s...appreciation...of his work could set his heart fluttering. Could it be that he could risk hoping that Tino would want him, all of him, including his non-traditional profession?

“Really?” He mumbled lowly, letting Tino slide down the door to rest more full against him, wrapping both his arms around Tino’s waist to settle his hands just over the curve of back, fingers brushing along the top of his pants.

Tino smiled and kissed him intently, a quietly demanding touch of his lips, tongue drawing out all of Berwald’s secrets, with just enough teeth to make it dangerous, parting with a tiny lick against the swell of his bottom lip.

“So hot I almost paid for a subscription. And then I remembered I had an all access pass to the real thing,” Tino purred seductively, so close and so tempting, that Berwald had no choice but steal all his breath away with another dirty hot embrace.

It had been so long since he had kissed anyone with a purpose other than moving on to the next stage direction, so long since he had wanted to feel out all the ways his partner wanted to be touched and tasted, that Berwald took his damned time drawing this particular kiss to a close, waiting until Tino was sighing into his mouth and pulling his hair and rocking against him shamelessly.

Tino broke away, panting and giggling, lips stained red with too much kissing, eyes sparking with lust and amusement, “So do I get a free pass?”

Berwald smiled, pulling off the glasses that had been knocked crooked, leaning in close enough so that he could see Tino’s face clearly when he said, “Better yet. VIP access to Sweden and Berwald.”

Tino smiled at him in return, brushing soft little kisses against his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, being so sweet it was almost unbearable. Berwald didn’t know how he did it, how he could play both the role of unashamed sexpot and charming innocent.

He was never letting Francis anywhere near him.

For the second time that night, Berwald blushed when Tino whispered, “Berwald and Sweden? Lucky me.”

No, Berwald thought as he Tino started giggling again, writhing against him and murmuring about the bedroom, lucky me.

“Lucky me,” seemed to run on repeat, cycling with the excited beating of his heart and the lusty, possessive wandering of his hands as he divested Tino of his shirt, humming with approval as he pushed Tino onto to his bed, swallowing his happy laughter with a messy kiss that had nothing to do with finesse and performance and everything to do with communicating just how badly he wanted this.

Even though it was some of the least polished, clumsiest sex he’d attempted in months and months, Berwald felt his cock twitch and his blood heat in ways he had forgotten were possible when their noses bumped together as they both went in for an awkward kiss and Tino just fell back on to the bed, snorting with giggles as he reached for Berwald to try again.

There was no discussion about lighting beyond Tino whispering dirtily, “Leave them on. I want to see you. A private show, just for me.”

God damn, Tino was going to kill him before he'd even lost his shirt.

There was no cheery French man commanding him to take Tino’s pants off, but leave on the boots. Oh, no, this time Berwald was taking his own stage directions, stripping Tino of everything with more haste than Francis ever would have allowed, tossing socks and underwear haphazardly about the room, biting back his own laughter when one gray sock landed directly over the holiday photo of his family from the year before.

There were no impressed soliloquy's about the amazing, awesomeness of his cock, only the excruciatingly naughty sight of Tino’s mouth falling open in surprise, before he met Berwald’s eyes and let his tongue flick out just so over the corner of his lips.

It was so rightly wrong that Berwald nearly choked on his lust, tilting Tino's head back to scrape his teeth up the long line of neck and groan into his ear, "Who are you?"

Tino had laughed delightedly, fingers trailing wickedly down his back to skate over his ass, breath hot and wet against his ear when he whispered, "I'm a lady on the streets, but a freak in the bed."

And then there had been Tino's laughter, smothered only by Berwald's wide, amused smile as he kissed Tino and growled, "Such a funny guy."

He'd forgotten than sex could be so damned entertaining, something that made him want to pour forth with not just lust, but the happiness and enjoyment born from mutual pleasure given and taken freely.

There was no shouting, no exaggerated crying out of his name, just the sound of his own heavy breathing echoing off the bedroom walls as the laughter faded into sighs and quiet moans. There was only the feel of Tino’s pants against his neck and the rise and fall of the chest pressed against his as they ground together like out of control teenagers, feet slipping on the sheets as they chased that sweet friction, each trying to get closer to the other in a constant push and pull of hands and fingers wanting and needing more.

There were no other eyes watching but those watching him with warmth and teasing affection, a knowing, accepting stare that told him that Tino was thinking of nothing but him and the taste of his skin and the touch of his tongue in that moment.

He knew his own eyes looked the same.

There was no soundtrack in the background, just the sound of the bed creaking against the old wooden floorboards, disrupted only by the delicious little gasps that escape from Tino’s pretty, kiss swollen mouth when Berwald took his cock between his lips, taking his time to savor the burn of Tino sliding down his throat, an unfamiliar sensation, hot and heavy on his tongue.

There was nothing practiced or feigned in the fingers pulling painfully in his hair nor the unrestrained thrusting of Tino’s hips and the filthy sound of his hiccuping curses as Berwald moved his mouth from to run teasingly along the inside of his warm thighs, panting against his balls, letting his breath skate over Tino’s ass.

There was no cut scene for preparation...only the unexpected revelation that nearly broke the tenuous hold Berwald had on his treasured control when he moved off of Tino to try and fumble for lube and a condom. He had them both in hand when Tino grabbed only the condom from him, pushing it between his fingers before throwing an arm over his face as if to hide his blushing eyes and said breathlessly:

“Don’t need it.”

Berwald wasn’t a vain man, he didn’t like to flatter himself unnecessarily, but he did have a gig in porn for a reason and his cock was nothing to scoff at, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause even one second of unasked for pain.

“You sure?” He asked while letting his fingers trace along the inside of Tino’s thighs, which continued to part ever further, beckoning him in closer.

Tino flushed and laughed dirtily as he took one of Berwald’s hands and guided a finger inside, keeping his eyes hidden as he murmured, “I may have gotten started without you. When I was watching your videos, imaging how it would feel if it were me there with you.”

Berwald buried his face in the inviting hollow of Tino’s neck, biting down and cursing to keep from coming at the thought of Tino, alone in his apartment with his pants halfway down, spread legged and panting in front of his computer, pressing his fingers into his body while he watched Sweden fuck some stranger.

It was one of the hottest fantasies Berwald had ever thought to have..better than anything he’d heard whispered to him in a thousand scenes or a hundred anonymous and meaningless nights.

That the one he wanted so much could want him the same way...it was more than he could resist.

And then there was no question of stopping or trying to regain any semblance of control, just the fumbling of the condom and Tino’s eager hands as he pulled him close, waiting for no one or nothing when he slung his legs over Berwald’s shoulders and took Berwald’s cock inside his warm, tight, body with a long and needy sigh.

There was nothing for Berwald to do but willingly follow the tide of Tino’s hips, rocking back and forth in a steady, demanding motion, drawing all his desire out as they kissed and kissed and kissed. His thighs ached and his back was tight, but it didn’t matter because there was no voice urging him to switch positions or angle better for the camera. All that mattered was the fluttering of Tino’s eyelashes and the parting of his lips each time he managed to strike just deep enough to make Tino’s body arch deliciously under his own, cock brushing little trails of wetness against his stomach.

And when Tino flipped them both over to straddle his lap and push back on his cock, riding him with his eyes closed and one hand pressed sweaty and hot over the center of his chest while the other stroked his dick, Berwald knew he’d never seen anything hotter in his life, no matter the talents of his many co-stars.

His head was coming perilously close to tipping off the edge of the mattress and he could hear the scratching of the bed sliding over the floor and there were clothes scattered all over the room and he’d barely lasted more than ten minutes, but it didn’t matter...

Because this time, it was Tino who leaned down to kiss him with panting, broken breaths and whisper over his lips:

“Come for me, Berwald.”

He barely remembered the splash of Tino’s climax over his chest and neck in the wake of the searing pleasure that raced up his spine as he shook and came, pressing hard and deep into Tino’s welcome, giving himself over to the total loss of control. He barely remembered the shedding of the condom as Tino kissed him messily, licking and nipping at his lips with happy, satiated laughter until their chests were no longer heaving.

All he knew for certain, when Tino shuffled back under the covers, naked and warm and soft as he wrapped one sure arm around Berwald’s waist and laid his head down on the pillow next to him as though he belonged there, was that this had been one of the most memorable fucks and wonderful nights he’d ever experienced.

And as his eyes drifted shut to the sound of Tino murmuring, “Good night, Berwald,” he found that for the first time, he couldn’t wait to see what the morning would bring.


	6. Chapter 6

The morning brought dull grey skies that promised rain, that staple of Dutch winter weather, and the soft tickle of hair brushing along the inside of his thighs and a slow, wet, warmth around his cock as Berwald felt himself pulled from sleep and pushed into pleasure. Without opening his eyes, he let his hands drift under the covers to rest on Tino’s head, stroking his fingers gently over through his hair, feeling the stretch of Tino’s smile around him and the vibrations of what might have been a hummed “Good morning.”

In the stillness of the dawn, Berwald let himself flow along the lazy sea of Tino’s attentions, the touch of his tongue and the feel of his hands as they stroked him surely and insistently towards orgasm. His skin was warm and flush everywhere TIno tasted him, burning and branding him with this quiet seduction.

He came with his fingers still wrapped in Tino’s fine hair, rocking into his mouth in surrender. Berwald kept his eyes closed, lips curved upward in a happy, panting smile, until he felt the slide of Tino’s skin against his as he emerged from under the covers. He was graced with a hazy vision of Tino, still sleep mussed, with reddened lips, looking ever so much the cat who ate the canary.

Tino was hovering above him, hair falling into his eyes, pressing his own arousal into Berwald’s side, lacing their hands together to cover his cock.

“Was it good?” Tino murmured and for the first time Berwald saw a flicker of insecurity in Tino’s smile.

He thought fleetingly of the unparalleled skill of Poland and even Norway’s untouchable reputation before he held Tino closer, stroking him roughly to completion as he mumbled low and hot into his ear, “The best. Because it was just for me.”

“Well, it might have been a little for me, too!” Tino laughed and moaned, jerking and arching into Berwald’s hand as he came.

Berwald pressed kisses to his cheeks, his lips, skating over the warm salt skin of his neck as Tino draped his body over him possessively.

“Good morning,” Berwald said lowly, running his hands over the curves and dips of Tino’s back, thinking that this was far and away the best way to wake up.  
Tino hmmed and stretched against him, wriggling in all the right ways, making Berwald wonder how long it would take before he was ready to go again.

“Good morning, indeed,” Tino chirped before he propped his chin on Berwald’s chest, gazing at him with mischief and a smirk full of promise, “Do you have anywhere to be this weekend?”

Berwald felt his own lips tilt into a wicked smirk, letting one hand drift lower to rest comfortably over Tino’s ass, feeling his libido simmer at the way Tino’s legs dropped open to welcome him.

“You’re going to kill me,” Berwald grumbled happily as Tino blinked at him innocently and shoved backwards on the teasing fingers.

“I figure I’ve gotta work extra hard to leave my mark,” Tino said without bitterness.

Berwald frowned and rolled them over, looming over Tino as he stroked his face, “Don’t have to prove anything to me. Last night, this morning, were amazing.

Tino smiled at him, pressing a kiss into the palm of his hand, “I’m glad. But what can I give you that you don’t get five days a week?”

Berwald was relieved that he Tino sounded more confused than afraid, knowing that in this instance, at least, there would be an easy answer.

“You give me more than you know. Already have.”

“Oh,” Tino murmured softly as he closed his eyes and blushed prettily, lips parting when Berwald brushed his lips over each heated cheek.

“And when it comes to sex, let’s just say there are certain things I don’t get at work.”

At that Tino’s eyes flew back open, lit with curiosity, voice obviously interested as he said, “Such as?”

Berwald bit at the curve of his neck, licking up Tino’s shivers, “Stick around and you’ll find out.”

Tino laughed naughtily, grabbing Berwald’s hair and parting his legs as he whispered hotly, “I’ll clear my calendar.”

In between a weekend of watching ridiculous cartoons and reality TV on Berwald’s couch, having heated debates about the legitimacy of Sweden electing to join the EU but not adopting the Euro, drinking tea while cuddled together in the oversized rocking chair Berwald had built with his own hands, two things happened:

In the moment that he woke to find himself sprawled on his couch, dressed in his ratty sweatpants, with Tino wedged against his side, snoring obnoxiously into his ear, Berwald fell deeply irrevocably in love.

And in the narrow, steamed, confines of the shower with Tino splayed against the glass and Berwald behind him on his knees, pressing his tongue inside, he gave to Tino something he never gave on set, feeling drunk off the sounds of Tino’s shocked sighs and dirty moans echoing off the tile walls as he uncovered all his secrets.

He was so wrapped up in this first blush of a great love affair that he didn’t notice the ten text messages and four calls on his phone until Sunday night when Tino was resting drowsily on the couch, having told Berwald that he was “fucked the fuck out” and to stay at least five meters away from him for the next two hours lest they go back to bed AGAIN.

Berwald scrolled through the messages, a tiny bit of guilt niggling at him as he remembered that he had completely stood Jens up on Friday night. He felt less guilty with each subsequent message that informed him that he was, _“A loser who was clearly too intimated by Jens’ awesomeness to show his ugly face at the bar,_ ” and that Jens was _“fcking durnk,”_ only to have the guilt kick back in when he got to the last message:

 _“Eirik’s so fucking pretty. I love that frigid asshole.”_

Love. It was worse than Berwald had imagined. He grimaced, feeling a great deal of sympathy for his idiot best friend and no small amount of compassion for Eirik, who he knew wasn’t likely to return Jens’ insistent feelings. He wondered if it was time to try and nip this in the bud before Jens got any more out of control.

He was about to call Jens to ease his conscience and make sure his friend wasn’t currently in a gutter or an Amsterdam jail cell when he felt two arms wrap around his middle and a forehead press to his back.

“Thought I was supposed to stay away from you,” Berwald said with a smile, putting down the phone.

“I didn’t say anything about me staying away from you,” Tino said petulantly, squeezing him, “Besides, you looked like you were upset.”

Berwald turned around to face Tino, kissing his forehead before straightening up and saying with a sigh, “Its nothing, just Jens and his drama with our colleague, Eirik.”

Tino hummed thoughtfully, “I’d like to meet your friends. Maybe then I could help!”

For the hundredth time that weekend Berwald wondered how he got so lucky, “I’ve got a release party at a club tomorrow after work. If you're sure you want to subject yourself to this, you are welcome to come with me.”

Tino smirked at him, “Partying on a Monday? So debauched, Berwald.”

Berwald sighed dramatically, voice teasing as he answered, “Its a hard life, but someone has to live it.”

Tino nodded sagely, “Poor baby, no one understands your plight.”

Berwald swatted his ass playfully, pulling him closer, “Really, though, its Nordic Night, so we’re all going to be there, if you’re comfortable being seen with a bunch of pornstars.”

Tino kissed him, long and deep, soothing all his little aches and worries, murmuring against his lips, “I’d love to.”

Berwald kissed him in return, shuffling them back towards the couch, already missing the feel of Tino’s naked skin against his, only to have his intentions thwarted when Tino pushed back, wiping his mouth as he said shyly:

“But I do have a favor to ask....about your work....”

Berwald’s heart dropped. He’d been waiting all weekend for the “but clause” to Tino’s apparent ready acceptance, knowing that there was no way someone could be this perfect.

Tino blushed, fingers fumbling at the collar of Sweden’s shirt as he asked softly, “Can I come watch you?”

 _Or maybe someone could be this perfect,_ Berwald thought as white, hot, lust spiked through his mind at the image of Tino standing just off-set, watching him, getting off on him doing someone else, just waiting until he was done so they could go ravage each other.

Berwald shoved him down onto the couch, pressing him down under his body, kissing him wildly before growling, “Revoke the five meter rule. I want to fuck you. Right now.”

Tino purred and ran his hands up his back, smirking with pleasure, “I guess that’s a yes.”

“Damn right.”

“Then I hereby revoke the five meter rule,” Tino said breathlessly just before Berwald crushed their mouths together once more.

  
“This is so exciting!” Tino whispered excitedly as they walked into the lobby of the Blue Tulip. Berwald wondered exactly why they were whispering as this wasn’t exactly a church.

“Less glamorous than you think,” Berwald grumbled under his breath, already thinking about the hair removal and make-up application he was going to have suffer through before he did today’s scene. As Tino pulled eagerly on his hand, it occurred to him that he hadn’t bothered to check the casting sheet before coming into today, so he had no clue who was going to be his co-star. Or co-stars.

Tino poked him, leaning up to murmur wickedly, “Its exciting to me. Thinking about what you’re going to do to Poland, or Italy, or Estonia, and then thinking about what I’m going to do to you.”

Berwald shivered and felt himself get hard, cursing his body for thinking acting ever so much like the horny teenager.

“You’ve got a dirty mind,” He said in return, dragging Tino towards his dressing room, “Remind me to keep you away from Francis. He’ll have you auditioning.”

Tino giggled and shook his head, “No, I don’t think I want to be on camera! But maybe I could be a writer....come up with all the filthy things that Sweden does in his quest to conquer Europe with his cock.”

Berwald snorted with laughter, intending to swing Tino around and kiss him until he stopped saying such ridiculously stupidly hot things, only to have his concentration broken by the sudden slamming of the hallway door.

He turned to see Jens marching down the hallway, more enraged than Berwald had ever seen, a piece of paper crumpled between his shaking fist, eyes blazing.

“You fucker!” Jens shouted, his anger echoing off the walls.

The only thought Berwald had before Jens’ fist collided with his jaw was, “What did Eirik do now?”

As his cheek exploded in pain, eyes going wide in hurt surprise, Berwald barely had time to register the fact that Tino was suddenly standing in front of him, pushing Jens back violently. He struggled to regain his footing, placing a calming hand on Tino’s shoulder as he rubbed his face and eyed Jens warily.

“What the fuck was that for?” He demanded through gritted teeth, trying to keep Tino from launching himself at Jens.

Jens glared at him, fists clenched as he ranted, “Like you don’t fucking know. I wondered why you didn’t show on Friday and now I know, asshole! Because you fucking stole him from me and couldn’t face me like a man!”

Berwald felt his confusion deepen with the ache in his jaw, “Stole who? What are you talking about?”

Jens shoved the paper in his face and Berwald’s eyes widened and his breath caught when he saw the two names on the casting sheet for today’s shoot:

 _Sweden & Norway_

“Fuck!” He swore under his breath, suddenly very aware of why Jens was vibrating with upset and rage.

“That’s right. Francis said that you’ve been doing such good work lately you must have been getting inspiration from somewhere and the Boss Man said that since I couldn’t cut it anymore, maybe you should take over since another Scandinavian top was as a good a replacement as he could think of...” Jens spat out bitterly.

Berwald looked around the hallway, noticing that they had an audience, surprised to see Eirik resting against the wall, seemingly as placid as ever, though the tightness in his face gave away his agitation.

Berwald sighed, shaking his head as he turned apologetically towards Jens, “Look, I didn’t ask to be partnered with him!”

“You have to refuse! You can’t do this! Its too fucked up, even for all the weird shit we do everyday!” Jens demanded, clearly forgetting how little Francis and the Boss Man liked it when the actors starting refusing to things that weren’t clearly stipulated contractually in advance. Particularly when it came to co-stars--a slippery slope, they said. One person decides they don't like someone else one day and all of a sudden everything is thrown into chaos.

“Its our job. You know what Francis will say.” Berwald said, trying to be as placating as possible.

“Fuck this job! And fuck Francis!” Jens shouted, too angry to be anywhere close to rational.

Berwald felt a headache coming on, feeling trapped between his friendship and his obligations, at a loss for how to disentangle himself from this clusterfuck, until he was saved by the last person he would have expected.

Jens stilled when Eirik appeared at his side, commanding him blandly, “Shut-up and come with me, idiot, before you make it worse for yourself. And for me.”

Jens’ mouth shut abruptly, the silence as deafening as his earlier shouts as he followed quietly behind Eirik, both disappearing into Eirik’s dressing room, the door shutting with a resounding thud.

“Not exciting and glamorous, eh?” Tino said sarcastically, turning around to touch his hand to Berwald’s bruised cheek.

“Sorry about that,” Berwald mumbled, eyes still fixed on Eirik’s closed door, worried for Jens and worried about exactly what he was supposed to do in this situation.

“Don’t be. I take it that was the drama between Jens and your co-star coming to a head.”

Berwald groaned, “Yes. That’s Eirik. Otherwise known as Norway.”

Tino’s eyes grew round, “Ooooh, like Norway from the Denmark Does Norway series?”

Berwald scowled, disliking the idea of Tino knowing what Jens looked like naked, “You watched those, too?”

Tino flushed and blinked at him guiltily, “You were much hotter!”

“Mmmhmm, likely story,” Berwald teased, enjoying the shifty look in Tino’s eyes, wondering how he could use this little revelation to his advantage.

And then Tino went and stole the whole game from him when he pursed his lips and said, “I can’t believe that Denmark was the guy who just hit my boyfriend. He’s lucky I didn’t kick his ass.”

He kissed Tino, smothering whatever words were trying to come out with his mouth, smiling into the embrace before he pulled away to murmur, “Boyfriend, huh? Defending my honor?”

Tino swatted at him, rolling his eyes, “Obviously. But we can talk about that later. Jens just came back out and he looks kinda shell-shocked.”

It was true, Berwald thought as he shuffled around Tino to observe Jens slow walk down the hallway, taking in his troubled eyes and the clench of his jaw.

When he got close enough, Berwald stopped him in his tracks with a hand to his wrist, asking lowly, “What happened?”

Jens laughed wryly, looking up at them both, “He’s not going to do the scene. Said he wouldn’t do that to me. Or you.”

Berwald was confused as he took in that information, also feeling relieved that Eirik was going to take the hit for the three of them and brave studio disapproval, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Jens smiled sadly and Berwald was startled to realize this was the first time he had ever read defeat in the lines of his friend’s face, wincing as he heard the dejection in his voice, “Then he kissed me. Like a real kiss, you know. And then he said he was sorry but he couldn’t give me what I wanted. That he has responsibilities that are too important to be ignored. Said we had to stay just co-workers and nothing else.”

Berwald let go of his wrist to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, feeling his gut twist in sympathy as he saw the hurt and disappointment in Jens’ eyes, wondering what was truly in Eirik’s heart, surprised by the gentleness of his rejection.

“I’m sorry,” Berwald murmured.

Jens shrugged, “Sorry about hitting you. Especially in front of your new man.”

Tino peeked out from behind Berwald’s back, smiling softly at Jens as he held out his hand in introduction.

“I hate to hit and run, man, but I think I need a walk and then a stiff drink,” Jens said with a sigh after he shook Tino’s hand.

Berwald nodded as Tino said, “Of course, don’t worry about it.”

Jens looked at Berwald, forcing a half-watt and fake smile to his face, “I’ll see you both tonight for the big release party?”

Berwald arched an incredulous eyebrow as he asked, “You’re still going to show?”  
Jens’ laughter was still sadly bitter as he answered, “Of course. Norway’s the star of the evening. How could I miss it?”

Berwald said nothing, just shaking his head as Jens shoved his hands in his pockets and turned towards the exit, leaving him with a parting shot, “Besides, I’m a professional, right? What else am I supposed to do?”


	7. Chapter 7

When Berwald opened his front door to see that Tino had apparently taken his invitation to attend the private release party for the final installment in the _Scandinavian Showers: The Kalmar Reunion_ at Club Coc* very seriously, he considered blowing off the entire evening and blowing him instead.

Gone were the flattering but staid business suits and button-down shirts that Tino usually wore. No, this nighttime Tino had forgone the collar and tie for a pale blue v-neck that dipped low over collarbones that were begging to be licked. In place of conservative slacks were unfairly temptingly tight jeans, stretching delectably over an ass that Berwald felt the sudden urge to bite. Berwald thought he might have even been wearing a touch of eyeliner to make his wide-eyes even more startlingly alluring. All this and Tino just stood there on his steps rocking on his heels and smiling innocently.

 _"Little tease",_ Berwald thought fondly as he tried to calculate the bare minimum amount of time he needed to give to dedicate to the damned release party before he could drag Tino back to his apartment and take those pants off with his teeth.

As revenge for Tino’s knowing smirk and to remind him that he was no slouch when it came to the fine art of the tease, Berwald bent down to whisper as much as they strolled down his street, gratified by the telling tightening of Tino’s grip around his hand and his sharp intake of breath.

It was going to be a good night.

The club was in full swing when they arrived, familiar faces milling about the dance floor and the bar as the music thumped and the strobe lights flickered  blue and purple, the air already smelling of alcohol and the sticky sweetness of the smoke machine. Tino slid a possessive hand into his back pocket as he stared at the posters splashed over the walls featuring Sweden, Denmark, and Norway almost entirely au natural, advertising the three films in the Showers series.

It was always somewhat unsettling to come face to face with his other-self plastered on walls, staring at him and everyone else who chose to look: glowering naked and wet, inviting people to pay € 19.95 to join him for solo time in the bath. Denmark was also featured prominently, but tonight there was no escaping from Norway’s icy and alluring gaze, peering out from under a drenched fringe of hair, as if to beckon the viewer to risk the possibility of frostbite to plumb his mysterious depths.

His face was everywhere, on posters, on fliers, and staring down with dangerous eyes from the big screen above the dance floor, all of it in indulgent celebration of the release of his first solo film, _Scandinavian Showers: The Kalmar Reunion, Norway’s Naughty Needs_.

“Wow,” Tino breathed into his ear, leaning in close so he could be heard over the bass, “I feel like I just walked into a Nordic orgy. There’s like Scandinavian cock everywhere!”

“Do you mind?” Berwald asked wondering how Tino felt about being confronted with the reality of the whole pornstar gig. Maybe it was alright conceptually, the thought of him sleeping with other professionals, but how would Tino take his dick being on display for a club full of people who weren’t exactly uninterested in him.

Tino kissed his ear, flicking out his tongue to tease along the curve of the lobe, the hand in his back pocket rubbing his ass suggestively as he answered hotly, “No, I like it because I’m the only one here who gets to know what it feels like between my lips or in my hand or inside me. They have to pay just to look at you and I get to have you...on demand.”

Berwald decided not to mention that there were in fact several people in the room (Italy, the Baltic boys, and a few others) who were in fact very aware of what all those things felt like, supposing that would be missing Tino’s point entirely.

And it was a point well taken, Berwald thought with heated pleasure as he tilted his face down to meet Tino’s kiss, knowing that there was so much he wanted to give to Tino and Tino alone, that which was private and true and beyond the pleasures of the flesh.

“True,” he mumbled against the slick slide of Tino’s lips, “you have all of me.”

Tino pulled away, winking at him happily, teasing, “So romantic for a man with his junk plastered all over a gay bar on a Monday night.”

Berwald pinched Tino’s ass in retaliation, wiping the amusement off his face when he said nonchalantly, “And I want to know what you feel like in all those ways, too.”

Tino’s cheeks flushed and his eyes sparked, his voice unexpectedly low and urgent as he pressed into Berwald to ask, “Really? You mean...you want me....”

“Feeling shy all of a sudden?” Berwald teased, loving the way Tino looked when flustered and turned-on, “I want to have all of you. In all the ways I possibly can.”

Tino had closed his eyes and was nodding in furious agreement, the hand that was still wedged in his back pocket apparently moving faster than the mind as it was already kneading his ass.

Berwald smirked and touched his lips to Tino’s ear, grumbling playfully, “That is if you feel up to it.”

Tino’s eyes flew open, gaze hot and challenging, as he smiled slow and sweet like honey, “How much longer do we have to stay at this party?”

“You got other plans?” Berwald asked innocently, enjoying this verbal foreplay almost as much as the fingers running along the inside seams of his pants.

Tino gave him a delightfully mischievous grin as he answered breezily, “Oh, I just have a pornstar to put in his place.”

Berwald laughed and tugged him along towards the bar only to have Tino plant his feet and turn him around and kiss him lewdly, all taunting teeth and tongue, until Berwald gave up the game and moaned into his mouth.

Just as abruptly, Tino broke away winking at him when Berwald’s hands automatically tried to clutch at him for more kissing.

“Don’t just stand there, Berwald,” Tino said prettily, “Its not very professional of you to neglect all of your duties on account of little old me.”

As Berwald glowered in mock offense at Tino’s best _“there’s no way someone this cute could be so devious”_ smile, he once again marvelled that he’d managed to find a gorgeous guy that got so much amusement and arousal out of his less than savory job. As he looked at the curve of that ass in those jeans and thought about how much warmer his bed was with that ass in it, Berwald counted himself as the luckiest man in Amsterdam.

He was surprised by Tino’s sudden sigh and the adorable crease of worry between his eyebrows, touched by his concern when he gestured at the figure leaning against the bar and said:

“As much as I enjoy the panoramic scenery, it must be hard for Jens. Its like all Norway, all the time in this place. Is he going to be okay?”

Berwald nodded and pressed a kiss to Tino’s temple, knowing from personal experience that Jens’ night wasn’t going to get any less Eirik-intensive. There was the stage-show to contend with after all.

(Just remembering his own forced moment in the spotlight that past summer made him shudder. He was fine with doing his thing in the comfort of the Blue Tulip Studios but getting hosed down during a White Party in what Francis deemed a varsity level wet t-shirt contest was not his idea of a good time.)

Release parties were the worst and from the looks of Jens’ slumped shoulders and poorly put together outfit, it seemed he felt the same way about tonight’s little affair.

He clapped Jens on the shoulder when they reached the bar, relieved to notice that the man was still in a state of relative sobriety.

Tino hovered anxiously, smiling gently when Jens turned to them.

“How are you, Jens?” Tino asked kindly, neither of them failing to notice the way Jens’ attention kept sliding from them to the stage.

“I’m great!” Jens said with forced joviality, giving them a thumbs up and a smile, “Just waiting for the big show. I can’t believe that Francis and the Boss Man got him to do this...Eirik hates this doing this kind of live shit even more than you, Berwald.”

Berwald grunted in agreement, rolling his eyes and mouthing later when Tino looked up at him with badly disguised curiosity.

“Have you seen him tonight?” Tino asked once he finished making eyes at Berwald.

Jens snorted and shook his head, “Nah, I figured I got us all in enough trouble today. Besides, I don’t want to....”

Whatever Jens didn’t want to do was cut-off by the lowering of the lights and the sudden sounds of the unmistakable quiet, carefully crafted sighs of Norway mixing in with the low, dirty beat of the music. Berwald and Tino watched Jens watching the stage with rapt attention as fake snow in the form of thousands of tiny pieces of white and silver glitter, glinting blue and purple in the lights cascaded from the ceiling.

And from this veil of glittering snow, as the screens flashed brief teasing images of his skin, emerged Norway, standing in the midst of the blizzard in little more than a white shirt and underwear, looking as remote and distant as ever as he gathered up handfuls of glitter and blew them out from the palm of his hand to float out onto the crowd.

There wasn’t much to the show, Berwald thought, but there was something entrancing in the way Eirik moved across the stage, expression unchanging as he ran trails of glitter over his body, hips and hands shifting in the snowstorm.

“Wow,” Tino breathed out, obviously impressed, “He makes looking bored and disinterested look good.”

“True,” Berwald echoed before turning his gaze once again to Jens, who was propped against the bar, staring at Eirik with such undisguised admiration, lust, and yearning that he felt stomach twist in sympathy.

“That’s my ice prince for you,” Jens murmured lowly, eyes never leaving Eirik as the song finished and he swept off the stage in a flurry of confetti and applause, “He’s got that look that drives you crazy wondering what’s going on behind that blank stare.”

Berwald exchanged a glance with Tino as Jens turned back to the bar and pounded the remainder of his drink, closing his eyes as if he were working himself up to something.

Berwald was about to try and say something comforting when Jens slammed his palms down on the bar and said determinedly, “And I’m going to find out!”

“You are?” Tino asked worriedly, backing up a step when Jens turned around, trademark grin plastered across his face as he stretched his arms out wide and stared at one of the countless posters of Norway.

“Damn right, I am! I’m not giving up! Not after that kiss! I don't care if he was telling me to fuck-off. I know there was something there, a little bit of real heat  that was for me.  What kind of man would be if I just gave up that easily?” Jens said enthusiastically, rocking back and forth on his heels as if he couldn’t wait to be back on the chase.

Tino smiled at him encouragingly and Berwald felt a momentary twinge of pity for Eirik, who had no idea what kind of whirlwind was about to hit him, knowing how easy it was to get swept up in Jens’ endless forward motion.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, Denmark needs to go give Norway his congratulations,” Jens said without hesitation, seeminly restored to his fearless determination..

Relieved to see that Jens had bounced back from Eirik’s rejection as though it were nothing but a momentary blip in his master plan, Berwald rolled his eyes and shoved him away as Tino wished him good luck.

“Idiot,” Berwald grumbled fondly as Jens stalked off in search of further Norwegian humiliation, “He’s going to get his heart broken if he never learns when to quit.”

Tino hugged his arm, murmuring thoughtfully, “I don’t know about that. Maybe he’ll get his happy ending, too.”

Berwald looked down at Tino’s soft smile and warm gaze, knowing he had found his.

“I hope so.”

For long moment, Tino kissed him sweetly under the strobelights before pulling back enough to smile wickedly and say, “Let’s get out of here so I can give you yours.”

“Awfully confident, aren’t you?” Berwald said as Tino started dragging him towards the exit, already feeling his pulse pick-up in anticipation.

And when Tino looked at him over his shoulder, gaze hot and heavy as his tongue ran over the edge of his dark and flirty smile, Berwald knew this going to be a Monday worth remembering.

“With good reason,” Tino said, mouth full of mirth and touch full of promise as they stumbled out into the night and towards each other.

An hour later, on his back, with his feet tangling in the sheets and his breath coming in hard and quick as Tino slid his lips down his cock and teased two fingers behind his balls, Berwald could summon just enough coherency to give all credit where credit was due.

Tino had every damned reason to be confident. He pitied the fools who had suffered under the misapprehension that the man currently humming wickedly around his dick and looking at up him through his eyelashes was anything but sweet and cute.

No, this Tino was nothing but heat and want, with that touch of playful affection that made Berwald want to say “forever” even after only five weeks.

“Enough, enough, come here,” Berwald said brokenly, cursing when Tino swallowed him deeply and peered at him with knowing eyes before crawling up his body to accept his wild, desperate kiss.

“You’re so cute, Berwald,” Tino whispered in his ear as he reached for a condom.

Being called cute at such a moment as this was so patently ridiculous that Berwald felt his cheeks heat embarrassingly even as he pushed into the hand stroking his cock.

“Oh my god!” Tino cooed delightedly, kissing his forehead, “I made you blush! I made a pornstar blush!”

“Shut-up and get on with it,” Berwald half grumbled, half moaned as Tino brushed his cock against his ass.

Tino smiled at him naughtily, murmuring as he started to push inside, “Even better, I made a pornstar beg.”

Berwald’s only answer was to kiss Tino into silence, panting into his mouth as he took him inside, welcoming the stretch and burn, the heavy drape of Tino over his chest and the feeling of his hips pressed flush against his own pinning down him in pleasure.

“I’ll only blush and beg for you,” Berwald mumbled into his shoulder as Tino started to rock into him, short teasing thrusts that left him wanting more.

Tino laughed happily, nipping at his jaw as he laced their hands together over Berwald’s head, stretching his small frame to cover as much of Berwald as possible as he started to rock back and forth with more force. For several moments, he was consumed by the feeling of Tino moving inside him, slow and steady, hands intertwined and lips pressed together in a long lingering kiss. When Berwald broke away with a gasping groan, Tino licked the corner of his mouth, whispering into the warmth of his skin:

“Promise?”

“I do,” Berwald answered with a smile before Tino smirked and winked at him, pushing his hands up towards the headboard and telling him to hold on.

Tino shifted back, pushing Berwald’s knees open further, placing one hand over his hip and the other on his dick, making him groan and curse as he started to angle the dirty slip and slide of his cock just so, the rocking of his hips timed with the stroking of his hand.

As Tino moved over him, touching him inside and out, Berwald was certain that he did beg with his hands gripping the headboard he’d made himself, watching as Tino’s eyes fluttered open and closed, biting his lip as he took pleasure and gave in return.

When Tino’s breathing stuttered, he reached down to cover the hand on his cock with his own, using his other hand to drawn Tino back down to him, wanting to kiss him as he came, wanting to know the taste of Tino’s desire as he came inside him for the first time.

He felt his own body tighten and his mind fill with nothing but _Tino, Tino, Tino_ as he spilled over their hands and onto his stomach when Tino let out a surprised gasp and stiffened, coming undone between Berwald’s legs and tangled in his arms.

In the aftermath, when his blood had cooled enough for rational thought to return, Berwald pinned Tino under his body and kissed him until they couldn’t breathe once again, before flopping onto the bed in happy exhaustion, sore in places he’d forgotten existed.

“That was hot,” He mumbled appreciatively, annoyed to find that he was blushing again.

Tino sidled up to him, tracing a finger through the sweat and come on his stomach, touching his lips to the heat in his cheeks as he answered teasingly, “I know....I mean, I’m glad. I wanted to make you feel good.”

Berwald chuckled, “You’re something else. I’m never taking you back to work with me again. Francis would have a field day with you.”

Tino smirked, “I could be Finland. Star in my very own Scandinavian video... _Sexy Times in the Sauna with Sweden_.”

Berwald snorted and flung a possessive arm around his waist, “I don’t want anyone else knowing what a little deviant you are. That's just for me. Sauna sounds like a good idea, though.”

Tino giggled and kissed his chest, resting his chin on his shoulder, musing, “Mmm, we can do that next time I go home to visit my parents.”

“....you want to introduce me to your parents?” Berwald said, half hopeful, half apprehensive.

“Mostly I want to do it in the sauna,” Tino said cheerfully, “But of course I want you to meet my parents. I want to show you off to everyone.”

Berwald tightened his hold around Tino’s waist, brushing his lips over his hair, mumbling, “Won’t that cause trouble for you? The future ambassador and his pornstar boyfriend?”

“I’m dating Berwald, who is smart and hot and funny, with a scary face and good heart,” Tino said resolutely, “And if people find out about Sweden, they can just deal with it.”

“I won’t do this forever, you know,” Berwald said.

“Do it as long as it makes you happy. Or quit and you can be my kept man. Whatever you want.” Tino answered with a genuine smile, “Just as long as I get to come along for the ride.”

As Berwald kissed Tino, he felt as though his future was rewriting itself, a million new possibilities opening before him, that there wasn’t anything they couldn’t have in this world as long as they were together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Denmark and Norway  
> Part Three: Prequel with France and Netherlands

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from ABBA song of the same name.


End file.
